


Betting on His Own Stubborn Prick

by MisterStalker



Series: Jaskier Makes an Ill-Advised Bet [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Cuckolding, Erections, Hand Jobs, Inappropriate Behavior, Inappropriate Erections, Just Bros Being Hoes, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Public Hand Jobs, are they gay?, use of force
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28031373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterStalker/pseuds/MisterStalker
Summary: Whether Geralt likes it or not, Jaskier has made a bet with him. It hardly matters that Geralt thinks it is a stupid bet, or that he refuses to participate. Jaskier won't give up until he is the undisputed winner.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Jaskier Makes an Ill-Advised Bet [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2053254
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Betting on His Own Stubborn Prick

Roach and Pegasus were racing in line through the narrow streets of a township with the angry cries of a cuckold fading behind them.

Jaskier had done it again. He'd sought the company of a married woman as soon as her husband's eye was turned away. And he'd been caught in the act again, indiscreet troublemaker that he was.

Geralt turned his head to glance behind them and be certain no one was following them out of the town, or at least not closely enough to find them. He couldn't hear the gallop of horse hooves on the road if there were any, not over the ringing laughter of his companion.

Jaskier let his horse slow as he declared to his friend, "May I say that she was absolutely worth it? What an incredible thing! A lady like her does not come along often, I simply had to seize the opportunity."

Geralt growled, "Keep going!" When Jaskier didn't apply his heels to his horse immediately, he slapped Pegasus on the flank to spur him on again. "Stop to gloat again and I'll be using my hand on you."

Jaskier didn't slow down to brag again, but he didn't stop talking either. Not after their horses were thoroughly exhausted and brought down to a trot, not after Geralt found a safe clearing to make camp, and not even long after his friend had stopped listening. Jaskier continued to talk and Geralt was content to let him be, theatrics and all.

"I am but a man, and all men have needs, Geralt! It is impossible not to give in eventually to the pleasures of the flesh. Even you could not hold out forever. In fact, I'm certain you will give in long before I do!" Jaskier concluded what the witcher could only describe as a performance with a bold statement emphasized with a finger pointed at him.

The declaration brought Geralt's attention back enough to ask, "I'll do what?"

"You will spill your seed." The poet answered promptly.

"Excuse me?" The witcher looked up from the silver sword splayed across his lap, carefully being tended to with a whetstone in his palm.

"You will flood, shoot, spill, cum, whatever term you prefer. I bet you that you will do so before me, proving beyond all doubt that I have incredible self discipline and cannot be judged when I do give in to my physical needs."

Geralt rolled his eyes and refused to argue, deciding that his friend could believe whatever he liked about their individual physical needs. It wasn't a bet he wanted to participate in at all because, in fact, their physical needs were quite different.

The witcher was sterile, which he admitted readily enough when needled, but in addition to that he was nearly impotent as well. The calm heart beat in his breast was the cause of it. Too slow for a common man, even a bit slower than a common witcher's heart beat, and much too slow to bother him with nagging erections in all manner of inconvenient times.

Of course, Geralt wasn't going to explain all of that to Jaskier, not when he could grunt to acknowledge he heard the man and then put the matter behind him. He was able to forget about the matter entirely, fortunately, for the next several days...

Until Jaskier awoke with a displeased groan as he had every morning for the past few days. It was only a minor annoyance as far as Geralt was concerned, especially compared to the fitful whining at night when Jaskier moaned the names of various lovers, writhed until he awoke, then whimpered until he returned to sleep.

The troubadour, prone to dramatics, sighed repeatedly as he stared up at the slats of wood on the ceiling without moving. He finally cast a long gaze at Geralt and asked, "Did you bring yourself off last night?"

Geralt frowned at the concoction he was crafting as he considered the accusation. It felt like an accusation, but as he considered the tone he realized it was a only a hopeful query. At once he remembered the ridiculous bet and he assured, "You can get yourself off."

"Because you did finish yourself off last night?" Jaskier sat straight up with enthusiasm.

"No." Geralt answered as he returned his attention to his crafting supplies, "This is a stupid bet. I'm having no part in it. Just take care of yourself."

"Hah! A selfless suggestion, I'm sure! You'll let me do that and then I'll never live it down. Whenever we flee in the night from the bed of an irresistible siren because her husband came home early you will tell me I have no self discipline."

"You don't." Geralt stated plainly.

Jaskier dramatically threw an arm across his eyes, "You'll give in before me, Geralt. This is much harder for you, I'm sure of it, because of your unsatiated lust for me."

Geralt started to pack away his things, predicting that this performance would carry on for a great deal longer than he would want to be in the audience.

"I don't mind if you spill your seed whilst screaming my name, Geralt. There will be no judgement at all for what makes you give in to your temptation. Geralt, can you smell the sexual frustration coursing through my veins!"

The witcher stood up with his pack and walked briskly out of their shared room in the inn, hoping that with a moment of privacy his friend would put the matter to rest.

But Jaskier was only more determined to endure his bet until the bitter end, deep in competition with no one but himself.

After that he kept Geralt on edge at night, whimpering and rolling his hips into an unseen participant from his dreams. The frustration would wake him up and he would release an exasperated cry before he rolled over and pressed his erection into the bedroll.

In the morning, Jaskier cried, "You must be going mad with need! Oh, to be so close to me and deny yourself the simple pleasures of the flesh! I share your pain, but dear Geralt, we suffer without purpose! Grant yourself this one pleasure in life!"

Ready to be done with the matter one way or another, Geralt lifted his hips from the bedroll and pushed down his trousers to the meat of his thighs. He grabbed his flaccid cock and started to tug at it. The circumstances of the situation were far from arousing and he needed to focus very hard to push the blood in his veins to swell in his cock.

It wasn't the first time Geralt had to push the blood through his body by sheer power of will. The last time he'd done it, it was to guard his organs and keep them warm as he dove beneath an iceberg north of Skellige. But this ridiculous dare (or was it a bet?) was the first time he ever forced the blood to that organ and while he was secretly quite pleased with himself, he knew it wouldn't be enough.

The witcher's calm and restful heartbeat pumped blood into his length at only a fraction of the speed with which his blood returned to his body.

He pumped into his fist, hard and fast, keeping his eyes shut in an effort to ignore the unyielding gaze bearing down on him, lest it distract him.

Geralt would have liked to finish. He would gladly lose this ridiculous bet that he never agreed to so that Jaskier would bring himself off with his own hand as well and be done with it. Of course, he wouldn't complain about the satisfaction of release as well.

He peeked an eye open, hoping that Jaskier had looked away by now or at least started to touch himself. But Jaskier was staring with such intensity that he wouldn't even blink. His naked palm was resting on his fully clothed groin, gently palming, mostly guarding, waiting for his 'turn' with intense impatience.

The witcher dropped his hand with frustration and growled, "This is ridiculous." His focus-hardened shaft started to flag.

"Geralt!" Jaskier howled with frustration as he collapsed onto his bedroll again.

Geral lifted his hips again and pulled his trousers up, "Pack your things. We're going to a brothel."

"A brothel! The perfumed bossom of a whore won't make your defeat any sweeter than finishing off here and now by your own hand. And both are a far cry from your true desire, which is myself of course." The poet was already folding his bedroll and dragging his bags together.

"I'm going to pay someone to fuck you." He growled out, making his intention very clear.

Jaskier gasped and then hissed, "Fuck me yourself, you coward!"

Geralt turned a predatory look onto the bard and when he didn't flinch away he approached with a hand ready to seize his cock as if it were a viper. Geralt was ready to make quick work of the other man and put the matter to rest just as quickly as he could make him cum by jerking him off.

The wolf lunged aggressively, but Jaskier guarded his groin against the hand by turning on his side and curling up tightly, "No!" He cried sharply, his voice ringing out so brightly that nearby birds chirped in reply. He was certain the witcher could make him cum just by fondling him through his trousers at this point and the great romancer refused to lose his bet in that way.

Geralt snarled in frustration, getting onto his feet again and kicking the source of his frustration on the arse with the flat inside of his boot.

He hastily packed away the rest of the camp and mounted his horse, expecting Jaskier to follow despite the surly noises coming from him. When they were on the main path to the next township Geralt was between grumbling to himself and threatening his companion, “I should have given you a good thrashing when you turned your back towards me. You’d have a proper reason for your whining and I’d be as much of a pain in your arse as you are in mine.”

Jaskier huffed, "You're utterly obsessed with my arse, aren't you, my dear friend. It's a wonder you've held out so long. It is a true testament to your will power, second only to my own." He raised his voice to be sure the other heard him over his own grumbling, “Geralt, when you buy a whore for me, would you buy one for yourself as well?”

“I didn’t plan to take you all the way there and wait outside.”

“Would you share a room with me? I need to know when you’ve spilled yourself so that I can allow myself to… Oh no…” Jaskier groaned as he stared up the path stretching before them.

“What is it?” the witcher's eyes couldn't find anything to raise concern.

“I know this town. Lethvyn. Ah, if Merryn is here… Geralt, this bet is terrible!" Geralt would have agreed but Jaskier didn't leave a moment for him to reply, "I’m going to have the most incredible pair of breasts in my face and the only thing I’ll be able to think of is you. I’m going to be staring at your cock the entire time, to be sure that you’ve finished yourself off first!”

Finally Geralt had enough. He leapt off his horse to tackle his friend, startling the poor mount beneath them to buck them both off onto the ground. They rolled together in the middle of the dirt road for a moment, struggling to find which way was up and then struggling to untangle while Geralt worked to strategically put himself on top. The bard howled dramatically throughout the rough treatment, “Kill me if you must, you brute! I’ll forgive you, my dearest friend. I know it is the only way you could have won our bet, and winning means all to you!”

Geralt snarled, “There is no bet! Just a stubborn man who has insisted on making his stubborn little prick my responsibility.” He jerked open the other’s trousers, paying no mind to the nimble hands trying to grapple with his own. A smirk tugged at his lips as Jaskier’s cock sprung forward as if to greet him. He commented with amusement, “Ah, my mistake. It isn’t so little.”

Jaskier wrestled with the stronger hands, growling, "Overpowering me to sate your lust for my cock ought to be cheating! Touch your own cock!"

"If you want it, come and get it!" Geralt snapped back. The troubadour's hands left his and seized the front of his leather trousers, but he ignored it. He spit into his calloused palm and smeared the slick along Jaskier's length before beginning to pump it.

Moments later Jaskier's silky palm squeezed Geralt's cock, tugging at the base to coax it to stiffness. The witcher's breath caught in his throat as his cock twitched and began to slowly grow. He stopped everything else for a moment to focus on the feeling of his own swelling cock and encourage it. His heart was spurred to a quicker pace by their brief spat, enough to get a reaction from his cock. He channeled blood towards his length and felt it grow heavy in Jaskier's hand. The eager attention was enough to keep him hard this time.

The soft hand and strong fingers on his cock felt nice, much nicer than his own sword-calloused hand, and it wrung a genuine groan from Geralt's throat. He forgot about the stiff cock in his own hand for the moment as he bowed his head and let Jaskier pump his length.

Geralt couldn't remember the last time he'd been touched like this by someone else. It felt like a decent amount of time had passed since he'd last paid a sex worker for her time, before Jaskier ever started his ridiculous contest.

Jaskier wasn't slowing down or stopping. Geralt's eyes focused on him for a moment to watch the rise and fall of his chest as puffs of air escaped his open lips. His eyes were cast down, either watching Geralt's cock for the spill, or eyeing his own length in Geralt's grip.

"Fuck" Geralt growled as his hips spontaneously bucked forward. Jaskier's hand squeezed around his tip, catching the cum and letting it ooze between his fingers in a sticky mess.

He took a deep breath and let the gentle feelings of satisfaction soak through him as he eased back to sit on his heels.

Jaskier jerked underneath him, bringing his attention back into focus. He smeared the cum in his hand over the head of his own shaft, where the larger hand didn't encompass it. Geralt's cock was becoming soft again but there was a strong twitch at the base as he watched the lewd display of his seed slicking another cock.

The bard's clever hand steadied Geralt's fist where he wanted it so he could buck his hips forward, pumping his own length into the firm grip. It didn't take him long at all, he barely found his rhythm before he shuddered and added his own seed to Geralt's palm, mixing themselves together.

Geralt tucked his cock back into his trousers and wiped the sticky hand on his leg. He looked up and down the path again, glad that no one happened to come along and find the two of them, sweaty, bare-assed, and bucking furiously into one anothers' hands.

"I've officially won our little bet, agreed?" Jaskier asked through laboured breathes as he righted his own trousers and tightened the laces again.

"Yeah, sure." Geralt grunted, distracted again and trying to determine where their spooked horses had run.

"Good. Then you'll take your humiliation without complaint." The victor declared cheerily.

Geralt bristled and turned his full attention to Jaskier. The bard was clear about the sense of self respect he intended to gain by winning but had not uttered a word on the consequences of losing.

At the moment his face was relaxed and showed his post coital relief so clearly that Geralt could not guess what he could be planning, or how severe his plans would be.

But Geralt had agreed already that he'd lost the damned bet and now, for the sake of his honour, he could only wait to learn what fate he'd agreed to.


End file.
